


Who You're Against And Who You're For

by anything_thats_rock_and_roll



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Lams - Freeform, M/M, My Shot, aaron burr sir, i have no idea how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:40:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27303541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anything_thats_rock_and_roll/pseuds/anything_thats_rock_and_roll
Summary: “Are you laughing at me?” Alexander demanded, interrupting his own sentence. He sucked in a much-needed breath, and only then did it dawn on him that he’d managed to share most of his life story in a single breath. His irritation vanished, replaced by a flush of embarrassment. No wonder the angel was laughing at him.---This is basically the events of "Aaron Burr, Sir" and "My Shot" written up as a story instead of a song. Most of the dialogue is based on the songs, directly in some places, but also twisted up to fit into the story better.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Kudos: 28





	Who You're Against And Who You're For

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure I like how informal the dialogue came off since normally fancy-ass historical dialogue is my thing, but since the musical mostly uses modern speech it's how I hear the characters in my head. If you love it or hate it, tell me in the comments!

Alexander was overwhelmed. His journey across the ocean had been interminable, and when he’d finally made it to the mainland, he’d gotten lost on the way to Princeton, been mugged by some drunk, rowdy college boys, and then found himself thrown out for punching that simpleton in the finance department. He kept reminding himself that someday, when they told his story, it would start here and people would think, “wow, isn’t it amazing that he overcame all that to become such a success?” But the words sounded more and more hollow with every missed meal.

Now, finally, things were looking up. He’d managed to track down Aaron Burr, his last hope for talking himself into college with no money and no credentials. What’s more, Burr had offered to buy him a drink- perhaps he could be charmed into providing supper as well.

Alexander followed half a pace behind Burr toward wherever they were going, hands crammed in his pockets. It was fucking _cold_ in New York.

“So how’d you graduate so fast?” Alexander asked, keen both to break the silence and to learn Burr’s secret. “When I told that dunce at Princeton my plan, he looked at me like I was stupid. I’m _not_ stupid.”

“So you punched him,” Burr supplied, voice carefully neutral. “It was my parent’s dying wish before they passed,” he explained.

“You’re an orphan? Of course! I’m an orphan. All it would take is a war, we’re on the brink of one anyway. Then we could really make something of ourselves, prove that we’re worth more than anyone expects. And of course I punched him, what would you have done? He’s lucky I don’t have a pistol, or I would have challenged him to a duel.”

Burr’s lips appeared to curve into the mere suggestion of a smile. “Can I offer you some free advice?”

“Sure.” He wasn’t bad to look at, Alexander noted.

“Talk less. Smile more,” Burr intoned. He turned into a doorway of a true hole-in-the-wall type of establishment and held the creaky door open for Alexander.

“What?” he asked, taken aback. They sat down at the bar and were soon presented with large glasses of beer.

“Fools that run their mouths oft wind up dead,” Burr said ominously.

“You can’t be serious,” Alexander asked.

“See Exhibit A,” Burr replied, nodding at three men crowded around a table not far away from them. They were clearly having a wonderful time. Alexander was sure they could be heard at least a block away, and he could barely see the wooden tabletop beneath the assemblage of both filled and empty glasses.

A tall, elegantly dressed man leaned on the shoulder of his burly friend, doubled up with laughter as the other man slapped his knee. A high-pitched shriek of mirth came from the third man, who sprawled sideways in his chair with a disarming kind of grace. Alexander’s eyes rested on him for a moment, before the man turned suddenly in his direction and sprang up from his seat.

Alexander’s heart stuttered- was he about to be beaten into a pulp for staring? But an easy smile spread over the man’s face as he called “Well if it isn’t the pride of Princeton College! Aaron Burr, get your sorry ass over here.”

“Like I said,” Burr muttered, making his way over to the table.

The man who had called to Burr stepped fully into the light, and Alexander forgot how to breathe. The man looked like an angel. Alexander, the man of a thousand words, couldn’t find a single less-cliched way to describe him. His smooth tan skin was splattered with freckles, untamable curly hair bounced over his shoulders, sparkling hazel eyes that Alexander wanted to drown himself in…

The angel had a name: “John Laurens, always a pleasure.” Burr betrayed nothing in his tone or manner, but somehow the greeting sounded less than sincere. He conversed briefly with the other two men, but Alexander was too busy attempting to surreptitiously surveil Mr. John Laurens to listen very closely. The tall man had too many names and a thick French accent- perhaps one of them started with an “L”? He did succeed in remembering that the burly man’s name was Hercules Mulligan, because how could anyone forget a name like Hercules Mulligan?

“Who’s your friend, Burr?” Laurens asked.

And before Alexander consciously realized he’d opened his mouth, he was talking. “I’m Alexander Hamilton, I’m from the Caribbean, just got here on a ship, did you know it’s fucking _cold_ in New York? I tried to go to Princeton but they said it didn’t seem to be ‘the place for me’, I may have punched someone who Burr here tells me is the “bursar”. So I’m going to get a scholarship to King’s College. They won’t turn me away. I can write, I have ideas, they just haven’t heard them yet. They have no idea what I can do. I’m going to graduate early and join the Revolution. I’m going to lead men and win the war and when it’s over, I won’t be a bastard orphan anymore.”

Laurens’ eyes got wider and wider as he spoke. They crinkled at the corners, and the edges of his stupid, beautiful lips twitched and-

“Are you _laughing_ at me?” Alexander demanded, interrupting his own sentence. He sucked in a much-needed breath, and only then did it dawn on him that he’d managed to share most of his life story in a single breath. His irritation vanished, replaced by a flush of embarrassment. No wonder the angel was laughing at him.

“I’m sorry, I know I talk too much, too loud. I haven’t had a group of friends before- not that we’re friends. Not that we’re not friends! I mean I don’t want to assume anything, but you seem cool and now I’ve gone and ruined everything in less than a minute.”

John Laurens really was laughing now, but there didn’t seem to be any malice in it. “Relax,” he said, placing a calming hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “You’re good, man. In fact, it sounds like you’re exactly what we need.”

Alexander smiled at him, still not entirely at ease. But “exactly what we need” did have a nice ring to it… It occurred to him that he’d done the exact opposite of what Burr had advised him. Well, he considered, perhaps not the _exact_ opposite. He was smiling at Laurens quite a lot, after all.

“I like the sound of that,” he grinned cheekily. “What can I do for you?”

To his delight, Laurens leaned closer. “That is, perhaps, a discussion for another time. What you can do for _us,_ however, is simple: write. Talk. Spread the word of the Revolution, join the cause.”

“Done, I’m in. That’s half the reason I came to the mainland. Britain will never give up the colonies by choice. They’ll never respect us if we don’t make them. It’s time to rise up, now, today! We can’t risk waiting another damn minute.”

“Exactly,” Laurens nodded seriously, then turned to the rest of the table. “Lafayette, Mulligan, check this out- we’ve got ourselves a silver-tongued orator ready to take on King George all by himself.”

“Is that all he can do with his tongue?” Lafayette asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t know,” Laurens bit out, cheeks tinged pink.

“Would you like to find out?” Alexander quipped, hoping to God it came off as a joke.

“Ooh I like this one already,” Lafayette cackled.

“Careful, John," Mulligan warned, "America’s favorite fighting Frenchman is after your man."

John drained his glass and dropped his forehead to the table. “And to think I call you miscreants my friends,” he groaned.

They fell into an easy rhythm, joking and laughing and toasting the Revolution. Soon they were laying out detailed plans and drafting essays that would undoubtedly be lost by morning. Alexander had almost forgotten about Burr, quietly nursing his drink in the corner, when his bored voice cut through their chatter.

“Geniuses, lower your voices. Are you trying to get shot?”

“Lighten up, we’re not in Buckingham Palace. The Revolution is imminent anyway,” Laurens laughed.

“You are the worst, Burr,” Lafayette proclaimed, taking another drink.

But something in Alexander ignited in the face of Burr’s cautious, tempered stance. “I don’t understand you,” he declared. “The tide is turning. Public opinion is on our side, or it will be soon. It’s time to take a stand!”

Burr shot him a patronizing smile. “Good luck with that, Hamilton. Forgive me if I don’t heed the advice of a man who freely arms his enemies with every word he speaks.”

“Are you on our side or not?”

“Certainly, but the situation is delicate. You don’t advance the cause by getting yourself into trouble before the war has even started.”

“And you don’t advance anything with your ‘talk less, smile more’ bullshit. If you stand for nothing, Burr, what’ll you fall for?” Alexander demanded, blood rising.

“Let’s have another round- on me,” Mulligan broke in, changing the subject before things could get out of hand. Alexander fumed for another minute, not quite able to let it go. He could sense Laurens’ sharp eyes tracing him and wondered if he too thought Alexander a hot-headed liability. But when he turned to meet Laurens’ eyes, he found no derision, only a burning intensity that he very much hoped was desire.

At some point, Burr must have left, but Alexander didn’t notice. He was too distracted by the way Laurens was pressed against his side. He’d had just enough to drink that he didn’t overthink it when his own hand slid off the table to land on Laurens’ thigh.

It wasn’t until later, when the others had long since departed and Laurens’ mouth was pressed hungrily against his own, cutting him off midsentence with a growled, “Shut _up,_ ” that Burr’s words came back to him. “Talk less, smile more” seemed to be paying dividends at the moment, though Alexander would rather die than admit it to Burr’s face.

And if he woke up the next morning wrapped in soft, dry sheets, in a neatly ordered room, next to a certain angel, silently thanking Burr for the unintentional introduction- well, Burr didn’t need to know that either.


End file.
